Chapter Five
The gravel crunched under his boots as Crew leaned against the truck, adjusting his hat lower against the afternoon sun. He’d gotten here early—too early—which meant he’d spent the last ten minutes trying not to think about why his pulse kicked faster at the idea of spending an afternoon with Fern.
It wasn’t like him to get worked up over a woman.
Hell, it wasn’t like him to get worked up over much of anything anymore.
As a pilot, he kept such a tight rein on his control that everything stressed him.
But after the crash…he realized not much in the world could be worse.
That also made him pull inward, so he kept his head down, did his work and stayed in his lane.
But that was just existing, wasn’t it?
Fern’s small SUV bumped into the parking lot of the greenhouse. He pushed off the truck, a smile already hitting his face before he even set eyes on her.
Something shifted in his chest—a sensation he hadn’t felt in so long he almost didn’t recognize what it was. Parts of him that weren’t exactly dead but had been sleeping, tucked away where they couldn’t cause problems, stirred to life.
She climbed out of the vehicle, and his breath caught as the sun caught her hair, making it glint copper. She wore jeans that hugged her curves and a soft green shirt that made her skin glow.
Her smile was tentative as she approached, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture he was starting to recognize was nervousness.
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something stupid like reaching for her.
“Hey,” she said, stopping a few feet away.
“Hey yourself.” He let his gaze sweep over her once, quick, before meeting her eyes. “You ready?”
“I think so.” She glanced back at the greenhouse.
“Do you need to get anything from the greenhouse?”
Was it overstepping for him to look out for her?
Fern shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “No, I have everything I need. The greenhouse closes at noon on Saturday. I’d already run home and changed when I got Willow’s text. I just thought it was a good idea to meet here.”
Smart woman. Meeting in public, keeping things neutral. He respected that—hell, he admired it. It showed she had a good head on her shoulders and wasn’t the type to take unnecessary risks.
“Good call.” He opened the passenger door for her.
She paused before climbing in, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of them moved. He didn’t close the door, and she didn’t reach to do so either.
He studied her. “Sure you don’t need something before we get on the road?”
“Actually…” She tucked her hair behind her ear again. Yep—a nervous habit.
If Crew was anything, he was patient. Willow said that trait applied to the horses he worked with. Maybe it would transfer to a woman who was just as skittish.
Her green gaze fixed on his. “Would you mind if we stopped at the hardware store before we leave town? I need to pick something up.”
“I’ve got all day.” The words came easy, natural. “We don’t even have to go to the garden center. We can do anything you want.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and damn if that wasn’t the cutest thing he’d seen in a long time.
“So you won’t mind if we run back to my place and grab my dirty laundry, then hit the coin laundry.”
With a shake of his head, he chuckled. “I’m at your service.” He jerked a thumb toward the truck. “How much laundry do you got? Plenty of room in the bed.”
She ducked her head, a smile hitting her eyes before it ever touched her sweet lips. His breath that hitched before punched out of him now, leaving him standing there like an idiot with his hand still on the door.
“Just kidding, Crew. But I really would like to stop at the hardware store.” The glint in her eyes cooled suddenly, replaced by an emotion he couldn’t name.
He cleared his throat and shut the door, rounding the front of the truck before he could dwell on the way his stomach still flipped at the sight of her blush.
The hardware store smelled like sawdust and metal, familiar scents that had nothing to do with the woman he followed down the aisles, watching as she scanned the shelves with a focused intensity that made him wonder what she was looking for.
She stopped in front of a display of security systems, her fingers hovering over a wireless camera kit before moving to something more substantial.
Crew stepped closer, studying the box she’d picked up.
“That one needs to be hardwired.” He kept his tone casual even as questions started piling up in his mind. “You’d need to run cables through the walls.”
Fern bit her lip, and he caught a flash of something in her eyes—uncertainty and maybe frustration. “Oh.”
“I could help you install it.” The offer tumbled out before he’d fully thought it through. Then his brain caught up with his mouth, and he realized she probably met him at the greenhouse because she might not want him knowing where she lived. Might not trust him that far yet.
“I mean, if you want. No pressure. I just—I’ve done this kind of thing before. For my gramma’s place. And the ranch has cameras everywhere, so I know how to—” He was babbling. Actually babbling. He hadn’t babbled since he was six years old.
He snapped his mouth shut.
Fern looked up at him, and for a beat, he couldn’t read her expression. Then her smile came, soft and genuine. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Crew wasn’t used to feeling much. Contentment some days, annoyance others.
So when an easy warmth trickled through his chest, he wasn’t prepared for it.
“Okay. Good.” He studied her for another beat, wondering how she’d react to him prodding for more information. “Is there some reason you need cameras?”
“Oh, you know.” She tossed him a smile that was too quick. “To make sure I see when packages arrive.”
Fern selected a kit and tucked it under her arm, and Crew followed her to the checkout, his mind working over her blasé response and what she might be hiding.
He wanted to help her. And make sure that whatever put that hint of worry in her eyes when she looked at security systems didn’t hurt her again.
And that realization hit him sideways—he wasn’t just going through the motions anymore, wasn’t just doing ranch chores and checking boxes in therapy. He was reaching out. Connecting. Taking a step toward something that felt…an awful lot like a step toward healing.
They got back in the truck. To put her at ease, he cast around for some story to share with her.
“You may have heard I work with the horses on the ranch.”
She shook her head. “I hadn’t heard, but it sounds like fun.”
“You like horses?”
She relaxed a little in the seat, tucking her foot under her other leg. “I haven’t spent a lot of time around animals, especially large ones. I only had dogs and cats growing up.”
“Same for me. Before I came to the ranch, I’d never been within ten paces of a horse. But I seem to get on fine with them. One of my jobs is to brush them and give them baths when they need it.”
“That sounds rewarding.”
“It is—except the horse I had to bathe today doesn’t like baths.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “What happened?”
“Well, first she took the scrub brush right out of my hand.”
Fern’s shoulders shook on a laugh that was the cutest sound he’d ever heard.
“Then, when I got near her with the hose, she bit it and took that too. It ended up whipping around and around under the pressure and soaked me clean through.”
She giggled again, that flush settling in her cheeks again. “Naughty horse.”
He told a few more stories about that particular mare, who enjoyed playing in the mud but then bested him every time he tried to clean her up.
The radio was playing on low volume, but suddenly, she straightened in her seat. She reached for the dial. “Mind if I…?”
“Go for it. I love this song too.”
She turned it up, bobbing her head to the beat. Crew didn’t want to be the creepy guy staring at her, but her energy was so contagious that he kept stealing glances at her.
Without the sun to brighten it, her auburn hair took on a darker, sultry tone. Each tilt of her head sent the thick strands swaying, the motion as rhythmic as the music itself.
Crew gripped the wheel tighter to keep from reaching out. Suddenly all he wanted to do was thread his fingers in that beautiful hair, tug her head back and kiss her until she was writhing against him.
Hell. The photos on the board back in the lodge didn’t tell anyone that this was how it felt to emerge from the fog of trauma—like the world had beauty and sunshine and country songs that pretty girls bounced on the seat to.
Pretty soon, Fern started humming along with the radio.
Crew kept his eyes on the road, but his attention kept returning to the woman beside him. She’d relaxed into the drive now, one knee pulled up, her fingers tapping against the door panel in time with the music.
Then she started singing.
It was off-key and unselfconscious, and he found himself smiling before he could stop it. She wasn’t trying to sound good or impress him—she was just being herself, lost in the moment.
When had he last been that present? That free?
Crew realized with startling clarity that he was absolutely in the present with Fern.
Not thinking about what came before this moment or what might come after.
Just here, in the truck, with sunshine streaming through the windows and a woman who made him feel like maybe he could have something normal after all.
He glanced over at her, and she caught him looking, her cheeks flushing again as she stopped mid-verse.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he said.
“I’m a terrible singer.”
“You’re perfect.” The words came out rougher than he intended, weighted with truth he hadn’t meant to share.
She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled and went back to singing, quieter but no less genuine.
After they arrived at the garden center, Fern pulled out the cute pink measuring tape again.